Bleeding Out
by Suitslover14
Summary: A mission. A shot. A guilty Peter and a Neal who may not recover. T just in case
1. Chapter 1

**A/n Random Angst. Might write another chapter, really no resolution but I'm gonna need thos precious reviews for motivation. **

He's tired so tired. He tries to shut his eyes, to fall asleep but someone holds him there. Grounded. On the earth. His blue eyes flicker up, catching brown ones brimming with tears. What do you want? He thinks, his face falling forward. His cheeks are held, pinched, stretched. Anything to keep him lucid. It works and he opens his mouth. Ready to talk. Blood spills out instead of words and it has the other man reeling back. Neal coughs, the blood painting stripes on his pristine white tie. The world tilts, becoming a dizzying swirl of colors. Someone calls out, a yelp, a plead. No, not a yelp or a plead, a promise. His eyes shut and his body goes limp, falling backward into the rainy alleyway.

He has a protector. Peter. He's not going anywhere. Peter waits, the sirens come. The EMTs racing out, pulling Neal away. Peter sits on the curb, looking at his raw hands, deep maroon streams flowing through the cracks on his hands. Sparkling drops of water fall down his ashen face. Thoughts race like horses through his mind, stomping their sharp hooves down the trail. It had gone wrong all in a second.

A gun was pulled, Peter reacted. Too fast, too soon, not the right placement. The suspect alluded him, twisting and tugging Neal over by his tie. The bullet slicing through the air, hitting the wrong target. Neal falling to the ground, Peter yelling out. He had hit the wrong thing, the suspect had rushed off. Free. Peter didn't care, he had run over to Neal, pulling him on his lap. Trying to keep him awake. He needed Neal awake, alive.

"You will be okay." He pleaded-promised- to Neal, his eyes finally fluttering shut. The sharp blueness pushed away by white skin and midnight eyelashes.

He gets up, pushing off the ground and turns walking slowly to his car. He gets in and drives away a zombie. One thing on his mind, pushing him forward. The red lights hurt his eyes as he pushed through the doors to the ER. He waved off the doctors assaulting him with questions.

"I'm fine," He mumbled, "It's not my blood, it's my partners."

He choked on partners a new wave of tears breaking free. The nurses led him to a chair, he waited. The clock laughed at him, time didn't move. His breath strangled him, he loosened his tie. Coffee called to him and he let the scalding liquid pass into his system. His hands shook and he held them still. A doctor came, blood stained scrubs. Peter stood, long legs moving him upwards when all he wanted was to sink down, down, down.

"Agent," The doctor nodded, his blonde hair flopping into his eyes in an oddly Caffery fashion, "He's in critical condition. We don't know if he'll make it but for now he's stable, not conscious but stable. "

Peter sucked in a breath; _he might not make it, _the doctor's words bounced around in his head. His chest ached, his legs fumbled underneath him. He fell towards the ground, a ringing in his ears growing louder and louder. The doctor ran forward, catching Peter on the way down. Praying that he didn't have another patient, he flipped the Agent around. Peter's face was white, blank, his brown eyes possessed. He was dead. Gone. Lost. The doctor's heart screamed out and he pushed the guilt down. Focusing, hard and steady, he tried to make contact. Get the man closer to the living.

He led Peter down the hallway, nipping his heels, keeping him upright. Peter felt a prick, a wave of calmness, sleepiness and knew he had been drugged. He didn't care. It had been a long day and all he needed was to drift away…

**A/n Hoped you liked it, told you there wasn't a resolution, just kind of an ending. I'm really wanting to write another chapter. Will I have an audience? Let me know. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n I loved writing this. Thank you all for your reviews. They were really motivating. I hope you like this ending. **

]Fire. His throat burned. Pressure. His chest felt like caving in. darkness was his vision. All he could see. Air. He needed it. There was something down his throat. What was it? He coughed against it and someone cried out. Footsteps came in frantic beats. Pounding against Neal's tired brain. He tried to open his eyes, he wanted to see. Wanted the light. But they were like lead and he was so tired. So tired. Didn't he have this feeling before? Tired. Something was different. Something was there that made him fight. His brain didn't supply that this time. He was tired and in pain, so he stopped trying.

Clear. They yelled, Peter flinched outside. Looking into the room like an observer to a zoo animal. But there was more at stake here. So much. This was Neal. His CI, his worker. But not only that, his friend, a broken man that Peter vowed to fix. Neal's body arched up as the electricity flowed. Peter looked away, a wave of panic tensing up his muscles. He heard a beat, and pushed out a shaky breath. He kept in control this time. Not wanting to be sedated again. Not wanting to lose any time that he could sit vigil.

The beat kept going and Peter's hopes soared before crashing down harder than ever before. He was dizzy, shaky. He sat back down into that torturous chair. A horrendous shriek piercing his ears.

"No!" He cried just like Neal did on the night that he lost Kate."Neal I need you, you're my best friend." He sobbed as the doctors led him away.

Away from him, away from knowledge. Towards a place where he could only hope. Only pray that his CI would be okay. His friend.

Neal didn't know what he wanted. He was floating, a cloud. Right or left? Down or up? He didn't know directions. Just an abyss. There was a tug that told him to leave. That he missed someone and that he could meet up with her. Another was tugging him down. Towards a man, a family. A job. A life. One was filled with pure yearning. Another with love. How could he choose? He heard a cry. It screamed at him. Lit up his inside. Burned with a fire. A fire that could only be extinguished when he followed it. When he went towards the sob. He took a breath, and floated down. Down towards the family, the man. Peter. He went towards Peter.

The doctor returned, the second time that week. Peter stood, solemn. A statue. He'd been through this. Broken down, drugged, calmed down. He was prepared. But that didn't stop him from wanting. From hoping.

"He's alive." The doctor said.

Peter could've sworn he'd imagined it. He rushed down the hallway, bursting into the room. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Wit and fine cuisine all right in front of him. He breathed out slowly. He smiled. He cried. He wanted to laugh, to tug out his hair. He wanted to shout from the rooftops.

Neal was alive. Well. There for always. And Peter would never let him go. Friend. Family. Neal.

**A/n I don't think I could kill off Neal if I tried. He's just so loveable, I wouldn't ever want him gone. It killed me to write **_**Give Me A Hero**_** and I just couldn't think of doing the same thing to Neal. I hoped you liked this. Please review!**


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